Advent 2
December 10, 2006

Smoothing the Rough Ways
by Karen Christensen

Scripture:  Malachi 3:1-4
Luke 1:68-79 and Luke 3:1-6

"In the sixth year of the presidency of George W. Bush, when John
Baldacci was governor of Maine, and Susan Collins and Olympia Snowe
the Senators of that region…"  Myrtle Pedersen was playing with these
words in her head as she made her way slowly back to her room in the
Narragansett Nursing Home.  Navigating her wheel chair around carts
filled with lunch trays was difficult for her, but she was proud that
she could be at least this independent still.
    
Myrtle had been an avid reader from the moment she learned to
read as a child and had often seen the word, "Hrrmpf!" included in
stories.  She had always known that it was meant to convey a sort of
crotchety disgust, but never in her life had she heard anyone actually
say, "Hrrmpf!"  Until now.  And now she heard herself saying it as she
thought about the church service she had just attended in the nursing
home's activity room.  "Hrrmpf!"
    
The hallways of Naragansett were all a-shimmer with Christmas
decorations;  residents rooms were gaudy with trees and cardboard
Santa cutouts.  Still, Myrtle felt no more Christmas spirit than she
had found in the morning worship.  The pastor, a retired Presbyterian
fellow who was older than many of the residents, had been careful to
remind everyone that it was still Advent – a time of waiting.  Though
they'd had Christmas carols playing throughout the building for weeks
now, there were no carols sung in worship.  "Not yet," the pastor
said.  "Not yet."
    
He had preached about John the Baptist.  The scripture was so
familiar, so familiar as to be – dare she even think it? – boring!
"Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight!"  Actually Rev.
Retired Presbyterian was a pretty good preacher, Myrtle had to
concede, unlike other ministers who treated the nursing home residents
as if they were mindless children.  He had painted a very vivid word
portrait of John the Baptist – this wild man in a hair shirt, who ate
honey and locusts, and called out, "Every valley shall be filled, and
every mountain and hill shall be made low!"
    
The activity directors had even created an Advent Wreath, so this
morning Rev. Retired Presbyterian had let Prudence Tucker light the
candle of peace.  Myrtle was grateful that this man treated his motley
congregation like adults, with dignity - even the folks who stared
blankly at him and barely understood a word he said.  He had talked
about the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, the conflict and violence
that's so much a part of the daily news.  He had said, "This is
Advent, the time of waiting and preparing.  What do you suppose John
the Baptist meant when he called out, 'the crooked shall be made
straight, and the rough ways made smooth!'?"
    
Rev. Presbyterian had then challenged the nursing home residents.
"We have just lit a candle of peace," he said.  "Most of us look at
what's happening in the world and think we can't possibly have any
impact at all on making our earth more peaceful.  So we put blinders
on and go about our day-to-day lives without giving a thought to this
violence and suffering and war.  Until it touches our own lives, and
even then, we sometimes turn away from our own suffering."
At this point in the sermon Myrtle had begun to feel a bit
uncomfortable.  She realized now, as she wheeled herself at last into
her own room, that she had been making a kind of cruel game of judging
the visiting pastors and mocking their shallowness – and she was
ashamed of herself.  This morning the minister had gone on to suggest
that each person there think of the "rough spots" in their lives.  He
had said, "We're meant to be using this time before Christmas to make
room in ourselves for the spirit of Jesus.  What rough places in your
life need smoothing out in order for that to happen in you?" he'd
asked.  Darned if he hadn't looked right at Myrtle when he said that!
And then the piece de resistance!    Rev. Retired Presbyterian Pastor,
with a steely glint of challenge in his eye, finished his sermon with
these words:  "Even the tiniest effort to smooth the rough places in
our lives makes a difference!  Even the smallest attempt at
peace-making brings that much more peace to life!  If the coming of
Jesus doesn't mean at least this, then the Christmas story is just an
empty fairytale!"
    
Back in her room, Myrtle stood up and shifted herself painfully
from her wheelchair to her recliner.  Again she said, "Hrrmpf!"  The
crotchety disgust she felt was aimed at both the pastor and herself.
What did he know about her life?!  What right did he have to ask her
to be a peace-maker?!  And what right did she have to be angry with
him when this kind of spiritual stretching was exactly what she had
been longing for?
    
Across the hall George Kilcannon started up with his "Hoo!  Hoo!
Hoo!" and an all-too-familiar flood of rage filled Myrtle's mind.  She
angrily reached for her call bell.  Why was this man still on "her"
unit?!  He belonged in the Alzheimer's wing, not here where there had
once been some modicum of peace and quiet.  Why, she hadn't been able
to read any of her beloved books for weeks now because of the din from
across the hall.  A nurse aide appeared at her door, and Myrtle all
but shouted, "Shut my door!  And his!"
    
"I'll do that, Mrs. Pedersen, but you know that just makes it
worse.  He gets frightened when he sees your door or his closed."
    
"Leave it then," Myrtle said gruffly.  She rummaged in the drawer
of her bedside table for her address book and encountered her Bible as
well.  With a sharp intake of breath she felt the violence within
herself.  "Dear God," she prayed – aloud, since no one would hear her
over George's hollering – "Dear God, help me.  Help me to find peace."
She paused and took a few deep breaths before she continued.  "Help
me to be a peace-maker - to smooth out these rough places.  I don't
have a clue how to do it."
    
But even as she prayed, Myrtle Pedersen knew she had clues
aplenty.  She winced to realize she had to look up her daughter's
phone number.  When Rose answered, Myrtle said as calmly as her wildly
beating heart would allow, "Rose, I have been a fool and a coward.
Would you come here and talk with me one day this week?  We need to
begin mending what's broken between us."  Did she hear suspicion or
restrained hope in her daughter's quiet agreement?  No matter, she did
agree to come.
    
After lunch, which had been quiet for the brief time it took for
George to eat his roast beef and potatoes, Myrtle hefted herself into
her wheelchair again, picked up her well-worn copy of Robert Frost's
poetry, and wheeled herself across the hallway.
    
The busy nurse aides on the West Wing of the Naragansett Nursing
Home worked away at clearing trays and helping folks to bed for an
afternoon nap.  It took them nearly an hour, there in the midst of
their hard work, to realize that something in the spirit of the place
had shifted.  One-by-one they drifted to the doorway of George
Kilcannon's room until all six of them stood there peeking in,
transfixed by the sight of crotchety old Myrtle Pedersen reading to
George Kilcannon.
    
Myrtle looked up, embarrassed, and said with mock crossness,
"This wasn't my idea!  I noticed last week how quiet he is when that
volunteer lady sits here and reads his hunting magazines to him.  I
guess he just needs company, and I guess this is the only way I'm ever
going to get to read my favorite books again."

**********************************************************************************
    
There's a voice in the wilderness crying, "Prepare the way of the
Lord!  Make his paths straight!  Every valley shall be filled, and
every mountain and hill shall be made low!  The crooked shall be made
straight and the rough ways made smooth!  And all flesh shall see the
salvation of God!"
Amen.

(Comments to Karen at karenjean5@verizon.net.)